Goody Two Shoes
by Just Kill Me Alive
Summary: Don't drink don't smoke - what do you do? Don't drink don't smoke - what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, there must be something inside.


**Title: **Goody Two Shoes**  
Summary: **Don't drink don't smoke - what do you do? Don't drink don't smoke - what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, there must be something inside.**  
Rating: **T.**  
Chapter: **Oneshot**.  
Warning: **Language.**  
Words: **1484**  
Author's Notes: **Because there's not enough _Dyle_ in the world.

Oneshot

Dust flew into his face. He coughed and waved his hand, trying to get the dust to move away from his face as he had an attack of sneezes, gripping the seat of his armchair. Five sneezes later and he was leaning back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, breathing through his mouth. After waiting a few minutes, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffed, grabbing the thick leather bound tome and replacing it to its position on its shelf.

Kyle stuffed his notebooks, textbooks and pens back into his messenger styled bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He offered the librarian a smile. She returned it, though hers was much more tired than his own. He sometimes felt sorry for her, being cooped up in the same place day in and day out. It wasn't as if she got much company, either. The people who came to the school's library were mainly those who wanted to work hard and get the best notes they possibly could, so they didn't offer her much of an opportunity for conversation. The redhead, forever the gentleman, would offer to help out and have idle conversation with the kind woman, even if she said it wasn't necessary.

He knew it made her feel better.

He walked down the hall, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor. Looking ahead of himself, he glimpsed out of a window when he had the chance, green eyes darting at the scenery outside. It was pissing it down with rain, sky full of grey clouds and no sign of the sun. He sighed and began fiddling with the buttons on his olive green jacket, thick enough that even if it got wet, he'd stay dry. Loosening the hood from under the strap of his bag, he was prepared to pull it up over his head when he needed to.

As he passed the boy's bathroom on the way out, the smell of smoke caught his attention. It wasn't usual smoke, though. It was smoke that was actually quite familiar. Stan, Butters and Craig often smelt like it. With a small frown on his face, the Jew stopped in his tracks and slowly walked over to the bathroom, peeking inside. He should've known. Standing there was none other than the Antichrist.

The Antichrist's appearance was both to be expected yet unexpected at the same time. His dark hair was still long-ish, curling around the nape of his neck. He'd returned to South Park with a different style all together, his hair actually looking messy as if all he did in the morning was run his fingers through it and shake his head, leaving it where it fell. His clothes were typical; a pair of dark skinny jeans, ripped all over with shining silver chains hanging and connecting belt loops. A thin leather belt held them in place. He would always wear some kind of long sleeved T-shirt with a dark T-shirt over the top, sometimes with a logo on it, sometimes plain. Today, it seemed he was wearing a Breaking Benjamin T-shirt. The boy's feet were encased in thick and heavy looking black boots with laces, straps and buckles.

Damien's bright red eyes flickered over to the human boy's reflection in the mirror, a smirk stretching his thin lips. A forked tongue flickered out, playing with the thin silver lip ring before it disappeared back inside his mouth. In his hand he was holding the cause of the smoke; a cigarette.

"Well, well, well," he said, turning around to lean against the counter. He brought his cigarette up to his lips, his other hand hugging himself just under his elbow. "What do we have here?"

"You're not allowed to smoke in here," Kyle said automatically, eyes set on the cancerous stick in the pale, bony fingers.

"I'm not?" he cocked his head, wrapping his lips around the cigarette and breathing in deeply. He dropped his hand back to his side, breathing out the grey smoke that curled around his mouth.

The redhead frowned, stepping into the bathroom, the door closing behind him. "No, you're not," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Damien looked around the bathroom without moving from his spot and returned his gaze back to Kyle, "I don't see anybody here to stop me."

"I am," he stated, glowering at him when he laughed.

"Please," the demon grinned. "You wouldn't be able to stop me even if you tried."

Walking forward until he was a few steps in front of him, Kyle held out his hand, "Give me your cigarette."

Again, Damien burst out laughing, doubling over and letting a roar out into the empty bathroom. He stood back up, tapping the ashes from his fag onto the floor before he took another drag. "Did you think that was ever going to work?" he asked.

"Not really," he muttered, dropping his hands to his side. Damien's nose was crooked and his eyes were (surprisingly) void of eyeliner or mascara. In truth, he'd never really warn either of them.

He breathed the smoke into his face, making the Jew's nose wrinkle. The smaller of the two, though not by much, coughed, waving his hand in front of his face again, "Don't do that."

"Too late," he grinned at him again, wider this time. There was a moment of silence between them as they continued to stare at each other. Well, more like Damien stared and Kyle glared. Eventually, the eldest, by a long shot, sighed, "Why are you against smoking so much, anyway? Doesn't your butt buddy smoke?"

The comment only caused the other's frown to deepen. "One, he's not my butt buddy," he huffed. "And two, he doesn't smoke that much, anyway."

"Oh, that's right, he's s_traight_," Damien stressed the word.

Kyle smacked the cigarette out of his hand.

"Hey! I was smo-"

The Jew smacked the Devil's child upside the head, absolutely fuming. "I _do not _have a crush on my best friend!" he shouted at him, hands balled into fists by his sides.

He rubbed his head where he was smacked, looking down at the little ball of anger in slight disbelief. The cigarette vanished from where it had been on the floor, the ashes also disappeared. It took him a few moments, but he was soon leaned against the counter again, arms crossed over his chest and a grin on his face. "So you're gay?" he said, watching him closely.

Kyle blinked. He frowned again and shoved his hands in his pockets, "No comment."

"Ha! You are! This is brilliant!" he laughed, shaking his head. His shaggy hair swished with the movement.

"I don't see why it's so funny," he huffed.

"What else? Are you a smoker, drinker? Do you do drugs?" Damien persisted, his grin only growing with every suggestion as he leaned closer and closer to Kyle who, in turn, leaned back to try and keep distance between them.

"What are you talking about?" he asked in an annoyed fashion.

"Well," the demon said, not bothering to stand back up. "I'm sure you liking men goes against what you religion stands for, or some shit, right?" He didn't wait for a reply. "So, you might as well continue down that road, no?"

After trying to wrap his head around the logic, the redhead shook his head, curls bouncing, "No, I'm not a drug addict."

"Have you ever tried smoking?"

Kyle looked up at him in the eye. The iris was deep crimson with a smaller pupil than a human's. He had flecks of orange or gold spreading out from the iris and two thin rings of the colours around the edge of his iris. "No."

With a nod, the noiret took out a packet from his pocket, selected a fag and placed it between his lips. He returned the packet to his pocket, he lit the cancer stick with a snap of his fingers. After inhaling the smoke a few times, he handed it to the other, "Here."

He took a step back and just looked at him like he was mad, "Uh, what're you doing?"

"Go on," he held out the cig to the other. "Breathe in the smoke."

"No."

"Pussy."

Kyle's mouth pressed itself into a thin line and he glared once more at Damien. Grabbing the fag, he placed it between his lips and breathed. Say whatever you want, insult a boy however, but as soon as you call them a pussy, they'll do anything to prove you wrong. Almost immediately, he took the stick away from his mouth and almost hacked up a lung, puffs of grey leaving his mouth every now and then.

Damien took the cigarette and placed it between his lips, leaving it there. He pushed himself off the counter and gave the Jew a smack on the back, "Next time, we'll be practising kissing, Goody Two Shoes."


End file.
